Like Him
by St. Minority
Summary: Charlie Bucket writes a letter to his daughter to explain who actually gave her life and reflects a little about his past. mpreg, Nothing graphic All feedback appreciated.
1. Charlie's Letter

Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are not mine but R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp.

Based off of 2005 "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory"

A/N: All feedback is welcomed. Please do comment if you read. Small warnings, such as m/m references, mpreg. Don't let that scare you. ;) Really, nothing at all:D

Summary: Charlie Bucket writes a letter to his daughter to explain who actually gave her life and reflects a little about his past.

* * *

Whenever I look at you, it's so easy to see _him. _There's so much of him in you that I'm scared. I didn't think it was possible for you to have violet eyes, but you do. And your brunette hair – it's just like his: so soft to the touch, so perfect. Even your skin is pale. Of course, you bring the feminine quality about, but _his_ appearance still dominates. What did I contribute? Is there any of me in you? Why must you look at me in the same manner he always did me? Your smile gives you away – not even a true smile, but rather always a fake one.

You are _not_ a mistake. _He_ may think that, but I strongly do not. I can't. It's a miracle you even exist. It shouldn't be possible, but then again nothing's impossible, especially when you look at what he's done.

He believes it was all a mistake. He blames _me._ Fault lies with both of us, though. It was a simple "Got caught up in the moment" sort of deal. There was alcohol involved, which most likely was a contributing factor (Do bear in mind though that that was my first bout with any sort of alcoholic beverage and I've never tried any since). I'll never forget that night. I wonder if he tries to block it, but I know the answer is probably yes. We did have sex together. He actually allowed me to touch him in ways unimaginable. It's beyond words, I can't describe it. You'll experience that sort of thing sometime. But that was the night you were created.

I couldn't believe how upset he was the day afterward. He was so angry. It was hard for me to see him that way. I was young, only seventeen (your age), but I acted older and more mature about the whole situation than he did. He refused to speak to me for days. When he did, his eyes were swollen and red as he held back tears in front of me. He seemed devastated, and he was. I remember his exact words. "Look what your error in judgment did, Charlie." He had a hand laid on his stomach as he spoke. "I'm pregnant, for whizzdoodles sake! How is this possible?" He was deeply distraught. He went on to tell me that when you were born, I was to take you away, move my family and myself out of the factory, and never attempt contacting him. He wanted, and still wants, nothing to do with you. I feel terrible about that.

It's not your fault. You must understand that he is an utterly private person and dislikes being around people. I don't think he could've handled taking care of you with me. When you were finally born, my goodness it was such a day. He rejected the plan to be taken to a proper hospital, and so he gave birth to you in the factory's own care center. He allowed me to lend my hand to him to grip and squeeze through the process. He wouldn't permit me to touch him other than that – I couldn't wipe the perspiration from his brow, couldn't cradle him in my arms for a brief moment after, couldn't stroke his hair, couldn't kiss him. I couldn't admit to him my thoughts of perhaps maybe being in love with him. He didn't want to hold or even look at you when they got you safely out of him. I tried to persuade him, but he was in tears, distressed, and exhausted. He didn't want to look at me again either. I held you. You were incredibly stunning. You barely cried. I named you myself after trying to get him to help, which he refused. It was the last time I saw him before packing up everything and taking you and your grandparents with me.

The event was covered up and never spoken about to anyone. It would have caused great scandal and most likely would have tainted his business empire and reputation. Everyone thinks you came from your mother. Indeed, she is your mother because she came into my life shortly after I left that place, has raised you with me, and is now married to me. But you are now old enough to learn the truth. The person who is your father, gave birth to you, and gave you life is the world's most famous chocolatier.

He's such a beautiful man. You look so much like him. It's as if I'm staring at him when I look at you. Sometimes it is too much for me. That's why I cry every now and then.

I wish you could see him. I wish he would want to see _you._ I'm sure his appearance hasn't changed, even though it has been seventeen years. He seems to never age. He really is a wonderful person, but I learned the painful way that he is utterly sensitive and solitary. He was frightened. I know he did what he thought best in his mind. And blaming me was the easiest thing to do to keep his own stability. Please do not take this as me wanting to change the past. That would mean never having you, and I simply can't fathom not having you now. You are a blessing. You're my little girl, my starshine.

Maybe one day he will want to meet you. And I hope that you would want to meet him too. I wanted to tell you the truth. I protected you for so long from it. That's what fathers do though, I suppose. It was time I told you. I know you have been wondering about those violet eyes of yours, and why your appearance doesn't resemble your mother's at all. You're my daughter and also the daughter of Willy Wonka. It's time you knew that.

Love you always and forever,

Your father

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A/N: Please review. Thank you.


	2. Reunion

A/N: Wow, I did not expect to get such a welcoming response for this! Thank you to those who reviewed. I hadn't planned on continuing this, but since people have urged me to, I think I like the idea of turning it into a short story or something.

Please review. Thank you.

* * *

Dear Mr. Willy Wonka,

It's me, Charlie Bucket. Before you crumple up this paper and burn it, if that's in fact what you would do, please just read this. I know you told me to never contact you or anything. And I know you never want to see me again. But this isn't about me. It's about your child. _Our _child, whom I think you should meet.

A written response would be great. The address is below.

Charlie Bucket

* * *

Dear Mr. Charlie Bucket, 

I, Willy Wonka, will consider your request. I do ask you though to please meet me by yourself at the café closest to the chocolate factory on Tuesday the 28th.

Sincerely,

Willy Wonka

* * *

The unmistakable seal on the envelope had given it away before I even read the note. I must admit my heart felt as if it was about to burst when I read it. It wasn't from happiness. It was anxiety. 

Even as I enter the small coffee place, I'm afraid my heart is going to jump out of my chest. And then I spot him. He's at a two person table in the corner with his back to me. He's wearing a black coat instead of his maroon one that I remember and of course he has on his top hat.

He's so near. After seventeen years of being away, he's actually in the same room as I am. I'm starting to doubt if this was a good idea or not. We left on rather terrible terms. The last time I saw him and got to say anything to him was when he gave our daughter life.

I'm shaking senselessly as I walk towards the table. He doesn't even look up when I stand across from him.

"Is this seat taken?" It's the only phrase my mind could wrap itself around. But it gets his attention. When he looks up, I can't breathe. His appearance is the same, so beautiful - those violet eyes pierce me beneath their stare – but there's something that has changed. I'm not sure what it is. He smiles, and I can't tell if it's real or fake. I've been away from him for so long; I'm not able to tell anymore.

"No, please," he says politely as he motions toward the chair.

I sit and we simply gaze at each other. For me, the past is dug up as I look at him. Maybe he's remembering things as well, recalling everything that was good, and then the event that tore us up.

"So!" he finally exclaims. "Charlie Bucket. It's been fifteen years, hasn't it?"

"Seventeen," I correct quietly. My mouth is incredibly dry. And my throat is closing.

"Right you are. Wow! Time flies, doesn't it?"

"It does. How are you?"

"I'm well. And you?"

"I'm fantastic."

A waitress comes and I can't be happier for the break. I order a coffee, and he orders hot chocolate. I need something to clear up my throat. The drink better come fast. It does, and I sip it eagerly. I don't even bother doctoring it up. It is fine black for the moment.

"I see you have a ring on your finger," he says sweetly.

"Oh, yes."

"How long?"

"It will be sixteen years in two months. She is wonderful. She's been a life saver in so many ways to me."

"I see."

He drinks several gulps of his hot cocoa, and I can see that he is uneasy. What do I do? I'm just as uncomfortable as he is. It doesn't have to be this way.

"Willy…..What happened?"

His gaze feels like stabs; his eyes are so intense and serious suddenly. "I don't understand."

"I know you blame me for that night, and that's okay. I'm alright with that now. But _why _were you so upset?"

"I'd rather not talk about it, Charlie."

"Do you still blame me? Was there anything you liked about…..sleeping with me that night?"

"I _really _don't want to talk about it." He seems threatened. And perhaps I am provoking him a bit, but I have to know.

"Tell me. I know we were rather drunk when we did it, but there _was_ something you enjoyed. You _did _enjoy it. But you got scared afterward." He bows his head, drinks from his cup, and stays quiet. I continue. "It's okay if you were frightened. _I_ was too. I had no idea that we would end up in bed together. But I liked it. And I'm not sorry that it happened. I wanted it to happen again, and again, and again because I loved you! And when you told me you were carrying a child, I was terrified at first. But then I knew it was a gift, a miracle, and that it would bring us closer together. Why didn't you want to be closer? Why did you make me leave? Why didn't you want to see the life we created together? Please! Tell me!"

By this time, I'm shaking and trying to keep the tears off of my face. He continues to look down at his cup, refusing to meet my eyes. I can see that he is trembling as well. There is silence between us for several minutes. I watch as a couple of tears fall from his eyes and onto the table.

"Willy?" I voice gently.

He draws in a quivering breath and lets it out slowly. When he speaks, his voice quakes also and it sounds like he's forcing out the words. "I met you here because I wanted you to give this to the little…..child for me." He sets his cup down and takes out a sealed envelope from his inside coat pocket. He lays it on the solid surface and slides it to me. "I don't want to meet him or her."

"Her."

"So we had a little girl?"

"Yeah…..we did. Do you want to know her name? And I have pictures with me. You should see what she looks like."

"No, just make sure this gets to _her _then, 'kay?"

"Willy, please meet her. I think she would really like it if you did."

He shakes and lifts his head to stare at me. The clear tears have left tracks on his cheeks.

"It's not too late. You can still become a part of her life. Don't you want to?"

"Thank you for meeting me here, Charlie. I must be going now though. So much to do at the factory, I can't dilly around all day!"

He stands up and I do the same in response.

"You will make sure she gets it, won't you?"

I take up the envelope and whisper, "I promise."

He nods, puts on a smile that I know is false, and I hear him breathe, "'Kay then. Bye."

I'm left alone, suddenly fearing that I won't see him again. I fear my daughter, _our _daughter, won't get to see him at all.

I clutch the letter tightly and race after him. I shout, "Please rethink it, Willy. You have our address now."

He does not stop his pace. I vaguely hear him reply, "I might, okay?"

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A/N: All feedback appreciated. 


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